


And Honey in the Carcass

by newredshoes



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Apocalypse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2008-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newredshoes/pseuds/newredshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Africanized honey bees in six counties in the Carolinas, Josh. Would it be so terrible to monitor the situation?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Honey in the Carcass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Netgirl_y2k](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/gifts).



"Bees? Are you freaking kidding me?"

Donna stops typing to listen to Mandy's retort. "Africanized honey bees in six counties in the Carolinas, Josh. There have never been any reports of activity like this in this hemisphere. Two people have died this week. Would it be so terrible to monitor the situation?"

"People are allergic to beestings, Mandy. They have accidents. It's springtime, there are flowers, people are out cavorting in nature. What do you want us to do?"

"I don't know, maybe alert the public to the presence of a swarm of killer bees migrating north from Charleston?"

Someone from Communications ambles by. Donna drops her eyes to make it look like she's working.

"Are we talking Irwin Allen killer bees or SNL killer bees?"

"Josh!"

"No, really, is Belushi gonna come in here and start doing voiceovers?"

 _"Joshua."_

Donna looks up at the thump of Josh's coffee mug on his desk. "Mandy, I understand you're still riding high off that farm bill amendment. But we do not have the currency right now to spend any time focusing on a suspicious cloud of insects going about their business. Now, maybe in your free time--"

"I don't _have_ free time, Josh."

"You will if you start issuing bee warnings from C.J.'s podium. Come on, you're a professional, there's real work to do."

Mandy stomps out of Josh's office, which isn't so unusual a thing. Donna leans sideways in her chair. "There are killer bees?" she says, brow knitted. Mandy slows and glares, but doesn't stop.

She huffs, "Don't worry about it."

* * *

Sam leans against Toby's doorway. "Hey, have you heard about this thing?"

Toby takes a moment to collect himself before looking away from his computer screen, which is only partially full of words that need to become a policy speech on foreign trade. "Wow."

"What?"

"Throw in a few adjectives and nouns and you've got yourself a real question." He spreads his fingers. "Maybe you can get really crazy and give me a verb."

"Dead cows in Maryland." Sam, as is his way, is either clueless or unperturbed. He strolls into the office. "A bunch of cattle deaths in Prince George's County."

Toby folds his hands and rests his chin on them. "Are there UFOs near Baltimore?"

Sam stops. "They were stung to death. By bees."

"So no one was probed or abducted."

Sam frowns. "Don't you think it's kind of weird?"

Toby decides it's time to look back to his keyboard as a source of inspiration and self-control. "It's Cheese Day stuff, Sam. What am I supposed to think?"

Sam, looking vaguely put off, slips his hands in his pockets. "The farmers who owned the cows can't be too happy."

"I won't be happy if I don't get Thursday's speech to the steelworkers' union finished. Is there something else you wanted to bother me about?"

Sam ducks backward, shoulders hunched. "Just making conversation."

Toby stares at him until he goes away.

* * *

Leo looks up. "Anything else?"

Margaret clutches her notepad. "Apparently the park service has issued a warning about bee stings at the Reflecting Pool."

He doesn't move. "Bee stings?"

"Yes, sir."

"At the height of cherry blossom season, I'm stunned."

"Apparently they're very aggressive bees," says Margaret. "They chased a family from Iowa. They had to duck into a public restroom to escape." She's utterly serious, but Leo has learned that this isn't always a measure of the severity of the situation.

"I'll be sure to tell the President, Margaret. Maybe he can send them a pre-printed card and apologize for ruining their vacation." He circles the desk. "Hey, we don't happen to know if they voted for him, do we?"

She frowns, her face pinched and concerned. "Be careful out there," she says, and holds out a small aerosol can of bug spray. Leo stares at it. She doesn't take it back. "Better safe than sorry."

* * *

The noise of leather shoes and high heels has escalated in the corridors. Charlie can hear all the staffers passing outside his door. Usually there are waves and lulls of activity; today something must be going on. It might be better if he checked in with his lunch date.

"Charlie?" Zoey's voice sounds small and far away through the earpiece. Her breath hitches. "I don't think you should come."

"What?" He knits his brow, eyes on Mrs. Landingham, who is stalking something with a fly swatter. "Why?"

"There's." She sniffs. "I don't know. I don't think it's safe to go outside."

He swivels in his chair. "What makes you say that?"

C.J. strides in. "Mrs. Landingham, is the President in?"

She doesn't relent from her hunt. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear, he's in a meeting with the Energy Secretary. How soon do you need to see him?"

"Zoey?" Charlie prompts, through a burst of static on her end. _Somebody get that window!_ someone shrieks, and the line cuts out.

"No, it's okay." C.J. holds up a hand. "I just wanted to let him know that we're going to have to move the 3 o'clock conference to the press room."

"Oh." Mrs. Landingham lowers the flyswatter. "He does so like the Rose Garden."

"Zoey?" says Charlie, pressing the earpiece closer. "Hello?"

* * *

"C.J.! C.J.!" Hands shoot up, waving furiously from their seats. Cameras hum, bodies sway, and millions of eager eyes are focused on her.

Chris hops to her feet, ready to take dictation. "C.J., what do we know?"

She tells them to stay inside, to seal up doors and windows, to stock up on bottled water and keep a television or radio close. They listen. She details courses of action: smoke, pesticides, measures of last resort. Hopefully it won't come to that.

"C.J.!" Danny calls out. "Do we know where the bees come from?"

She isn't sure what issues from her mouth. The reporters lap it up and cart it away.

* * *

"This is stupid," Josh announces, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

Toby sags against his seat. "I agree."

"No, I mean _this,_ this is stupid!" He launches himself to his feet, gesticulating. "They're in the _vents?_ What are we thinking? We shouldn't be just sitting here, we should be -- handing out hazmat suits or federalizing transportation and evacuating the city or just -- _something."_

Sam is leaning against a wall, very still and staring straight again. "The entire insect population of the Amazon Basin has descended on the Capitol. I don't exactly know what our options are."

Josh mutters something, rubbing at his forehead. "What was that?" Toby says.

"I hate just sitting here," Josh repeats, louder. "I need to work."

"We have to wait," says Sam softly.

Toby takes a breath and threads his fingers together. "Has anyone picked up any more wires or signals?"

C.J. shucks off a Max Mara jacket; it shimmers, almost iridescent, on the back of her chair. "What's going to get through? All the major stations are out, and thanks to Mr. Ham Radio New Jersey, we already know we just got what was coming to us."

"This is stupid," Josh repeats, choking on the words. The fluorescent lights flicker and tunelessly hum.

* * *

Abbey looks sidelong at her husband. He's hunched forward in a chair, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his hands, eyes distant. "Are you thinking about Samson?" she says, in the quiet.

He glances up. "Hmm?"

She smiles, against all odds. "I said, are you thinking about Samson?"

He watches her. "Why would I be thinking about that?"

She shrugs. "Killing the lion with his bare hands. 'Out of the eater came forth meat.'"

"'Out of the strong came forth sweetness.'" He reaches for her hand; she gives it to him. "No. Aristaeus, actually."

She squeezes his hand. "That's the same story."

"I know." He sighs, and lets his gaze drift. "I guess I'm a little angry with the Bible at the moment." His attention shifts back onto her. She sees the exact moment he falls back on facts for comfort. "You know, the Greeks thought bees and maggots and other insects were all the product of spontaneous generation. They had a word for it: _bougonia._ It means 'ox-born.' Bees coming out of an ox carcass. That's what Aristaeus saw. Samson too."

She brushes back a piece of his hair. He hunches forward again, his expression gray. "What happened, Abbey? We've got all sorts of experts every day looking out for all manner of events. We look for nuclear war and gas attacks and armed militias and assassinations and bioterrorism. Every day I worry about that, and keeping the party together, and working with Congress, and making sure nobody says something stupid to the press. I do everything I can, some days better than others, but not a day goes by I don't pray for the wisdom to meet each hour head on. I mean, who could we have looked to? How could we have prepared the people?" He lifts his eyes to the middle distance. "Where did this even come from?"

Abbey strokes his temple. "It's a plague of bees, sweetie," she says. "Sometimes they just happen."


End file.
